sharon white pov: A Story That Will Capture Your Heart

Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and sharon white pov. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “sharon white pov” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see sharon white pov come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “sharon white pov, sharon white pov, fuck, sharon white pov!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “sharon white pov” release.